


too close to stars

by sepiacigarettes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Quantum Abyss (Voltron), Visions, Voltron: Legendary Defender Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29511348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepiacigarettes/pseuds/sepiacigarettes
Summary: Of course it’s Keith.Who else would it have been?Shiro watched his best friend climb out of a beat-up Altean pod looking likethat, with longer hair and a Blades suit that hid absolutely nothing about his stronger, older body, and a newfound confidence woven into his every move.And then he’d chased Shiro across the Universe and said he loved Shiro.So of course it’s Keith.in which Shiro's first love is the stars, and his last love is Keith
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 146





	too close to stars

**Author's Note:**

> all my love to [Yuuya](https://twitter.com/veilnebuula/) and [Ribbit](https://twitter.com/ribbitsplace/) for coming up with the project and breathing life into it, and thank you for asking me to join. it took a while but we got there ❤️🖤
> 
> art pending from dearest Ribbit!

> Told you not to worry
> 
> But maybe that's a lie
> 
> Honey, what's your hurry?
> 
> Won't you stay inside?
> 
> Remember not to get **too close to stars**
> 
> They're never gonna give you love like ours
> 
> Where did you go?
> 
> I should know, but it's cold
> 
> And I don't wanna be lonely
> 
> So show me the way home
> 
> I can't lose another life
> 
> — Billie Eilish, _ilomilo_

— S —

Shiro’s first love was the stars.

He’d watched them for as long as he could remember, lying awake in the hospital bed, listening to the nurses prowl up and down the corridors. They’d come every few hours to take his obs, and then leave him. His mother would stay asleep, tucked under blankets in the bed they provided for parents.

Insomnia came hand in hand with hospital visits. It was impossible to get to sleep properly in hospital, so he’d pass the time watching the stars, picking out the ones that always appeared together. His father noticed it one night and bought him a book on star charts, and that was the beginning of the end.

Sometimes Shiro wonders what might have happened if he didn’t learn the names of all those constellations. Would he have been as driven to see them? Would he have been desperate enough to go against medical advice just to touch the sky?

He doesn’t know. And it doesn’t matter, anyway.

He went up, stepped foot on Kerberos and, well. Here he is, a lifetime later, with a new arm, a new scar, a new hair colour—hell, a new lease on life. Everything is _new new new,_ so it makes sense that with it comes a new love.

It’s Keith.

Of _course_ it’s Keith.

Who else would it have been?

Shiro watched his best friend climb out of a beat-up Altean pod looking like _that,_ with longer hair and a Blades suit that hid absolutely nothing about his stronger, older body, and a newfound confidence woven into his every move.

And then he’d chased Shiro across the Universe and said he loved Shiro.

So of _course_ it’s Keith.

Shiro doesn’t know when it began, when he stopped looking at the stars and started looking at his best friend instead. He just knows that he was in the middle before he even realised it was _something,_ and now that something is horrible and _growing_ bigger and bigger ever since the facility.

Because Keith, with his stronger body and newfound confidence and love confession that Shiro never answered, feels comfortable enough to move into Shiro’s space now, has no qualms about sitting next to him and making his presence _known._ Shiro still remembers how drained and exhausted he was when he woke up after Allura put him into the clone body; how the first thing he saw was Keith leaning down, arms coming around Shiro.

How after Shiro woke up properly, after dreaming of hoverbikes and sunsets with the love of his life, Keith had gone for a hug again, except he’d paused, and Shiro’s heart leapt into his throat because he thought Keith was going to kiss him, and he wanted it, he _wanted_ it so badly.

But Keith didn’t kiss him. Keith simply held him close and said, ‘we saved each other’, and Shiro just held him in return, wanting to disagree, because Shiro is so used to Keith saving him now, it hardly seems like an even score.

If he’s a wandering tide, then Keith is his home beach.

— S —

So maybe that’s why Shiro can’t sit still.

Shiro watches the explosion, watches the Lions fall back down to Earth, and panics.

People are shouting out questions to him, asking him what to do, but Shiro can barely think as he snaps at Veronica to look after the bridge.

Already Garrison convoys are on their way to the Lions, but Shiro gets to Black first.

She’s on her side.

“Black?” he says, fighting down the heavy pound of his heart and the bile in his throat.

She gives a muffled groan, but when he puts a hand to her snout, she opens her mouth.

Shiro stumbles through to the cockpit and oh _god_ that’s—that’s a lot of blood. Fuck.

There’s blood and blood and _more_ blood and Keith, head tilted back far enough that Shiro can see the red streaming from his ears and nose. His heart stops.

For a moment, all Shiro can see is the red.

Then his heartbeat triples.

“Keith!” he yells, scrambling forward on his knees until he gets to the pilot's chair.

Keith is a ragdoll in his arms as he hauls him up, panic blurring his vision and clogging his lungs.

"Keith?" he begs, brushing the hair from Keith's forehead. It's matted with blood and grime and Shiro sobs when Keith's head lolls to the side. "Oh god, _please."_

The paladin uniform is too bulky to even consider removing, but Shiro finds Keith's neck and presses a desperate hand to it, feeling for a pulse.

It's there.

Weak, and barely palpable, but _there._

"Oh thank god," Shiro says, holding Keith to him as he heaves, as the scattered pieces of him start to float together again, brought together by the current. "Thank god."

— S —

Communicating with Atlas usually involves her leaving him alone until he needs her. If he’s piloting, she’ll come to the forefront and hover, and if she needs his attention when he’s elsewhere, she’ll nudge along the outskirts of his mind gently.

Shiro doesn’t know what he’s doing when she _barrels_ into his mindscape.

What he does know is that he’s still attempting to process her crashing into his mind so abruptly when she speaks.

All he hears is, _Keith is awake._

And then he starts running.

Captain Shirogane does not run. Captain Shirogane is the epitome of a cool, calm, and collected leader, one who walks briskly down corridors, controls a room with a simple look, and commands attention wherever he goes. Captain Shirogane is impervious to anything any other human would be bothered by.

But he’s Shiro in that moment.

He’s Shiro, hearing from the sentient spaceship in his head that his best friend has _finally_ woken up after almost a month of being under. He’s Shiro; weak, human, flawed Shiro, and he doesn’t care, because nothing is more important than getting to Keith’s room as quickly as he can.

The corridors are bustling with people.

Shiro _sprints._

Keith’s room is further along than the other paladins’ ones, closer to the ICU. They’d taken him from there after a fortnight of being on a ventilator. Shiro had visited Keith in both wards as often as he could, which is to say that he visited a grand total of four times. He’d wanted more, so much more.

Captain Shirogane did not have that luxury.

But no amount of time spent sitting by Keith’s side would ever have been enough anyway.

On the first visit, Shiro had stared and stared and stared at the mess of Keith on the hospital bed until he felt like vomiting. Keith lay there, with tubes in his nose and arms, and Shiro’s vision blurred and overflowed and didn’t stop. The ventilator in his mouth was horrible, but what was even worse was the idea that Keith was only still with them because a machine was keeping him alive.

The second visit had been in the ward, where Keith could breathe on his own. Shiro picked up Keith’s hand in his, running over each of his lifeless fingers and murmuring silly little prayers. He was warm and so were Shiro’s eyes; they were hot and stinging, floodgates to Shiro’s sorrow.

On the third and fourth visits, Shiro held Keith’s hand again and laid his forehead on the mattress, and it was his turn to struggle to breathe. He fell asleep there. No one dared to wake him.

No one dares to stop him now, either.

Shiro keeps sprinting, lungs burning, heart pounding. He knows without a doubt that if someone tries to stop him, he’ll definitely snarl at them to fuck off. A smaller part of him wonders if he’ll throw a punch, too.

Keith always used to say the arena made Shiro into the Champion; that people did what was necessary to survive, and so did Shiro. Shiro wonders if it just gave him an excuse to unleash himself; if maybe after years of being told what he couldn’t do by the doctors and Garrison, the Champion’s violent prowess was inevitable.

The anger and resentment had to go somewhere.

But thoughts like that stay as thoughts. They don’t see the light of day. Shiro already knows what Keith would say to thoughts like _that._

The walls continue to pass in a blinding rush of blue and grey. Shiro always hated the orange panelling of the Garrison. Atlas’ colour palette is far less of an eyesore.

_Come on, Takashi, come on._

Only four visits and yet Shiro knows exactly where he’s going, running past countless doors and nurses mindlessly until he almost misses the actual room.

 _“Shit,”_ he mutters, knocking his shoulder against the doorframe and nearly taking the whole building down with him.

He slaps a hand on the door jamb and skids to a stop.

It feels like his heart stops too.

Because Keith is sitting up in bed.

He’s awake.

Still bandaged, still attached to the IV pole and god knows what else next to his bed, but _awake._

Shiro’s breath leaves him in a rush. He can barely get the next one in. His lungs feel wet, heavy, soaked through with blood that isn’t his. It feels like he’s stumbling through Black’s cockpit again, crying out at the sight of Keith slumped in the pilot’s seat, pleading with him to wake up.

“Keith,” Shiro says, and his voice wobbles as he does.

Keith looks up, right at Shiro, a lighthouse in a storm.

“Shiro,” Keith replies, voice hoarse, face breaking into a smile, and it slices Shiro in half, how much he loves this man.

It’s an age before Shiro makes his feet move, before he steps awkwardly into the room and closer to the bed that seems to swallow Keith’s frame. Keith has lost so much weight; the roundness of his face is gone, and his cheekbones are sharper, his jawline longer.

He looks more Galran like this.

“You’re okay,” Shiro manages, sitting gingerly on the side of the bed.

The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and Keith blinks at him, still beautiful.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Keith says, smiling faintly.

Laughter comes to Shiro at the comment, slightly misplaced, mostly cathartic. As if he could ever get rid of Keith. As if he would ever _want_ to.

“No,” Shiro agrees, wondering if he can do what Keith did to him when he woke up after being transferred from Black; if he can lean across and put his arms around Keith. “Definitely not.”

Keith’s smile is lopsided, sweet. Shiro wishes he could dip his whole ruined self into that sugar until it heals every part of him.

He watches as Keith curls his fingers into the bedsheets, eyes the way the hospital clothes hang off Keith’s frame, and figures he can face any potential consequences later.

“Hope I didn’t scare you,” Keith mutters, and god, that’s so _him,_ to be worrying about making Shiro stressed when he nearly _died._

“Keith,” Shiro says, _“God,”_ unable to stop the hurt and disappointment from his voice, and he leans in and hugs him.

Keith is bony in his arms, shoulder digging into Shiro’s chin as he pulls Keith as close as he can and tries to show just how worried he was. Shiro’s horrible at words when he needs them. He’s even worse at telling people how he feels.

But he’s good at actions, and he can do this: hold Keith in his arms and whisper, “I’m just so, _so_ glad you’re okay.”

He doesn’t let himself have any more than that. Doesn’t let himself turn his head to Keith’s neck, doesn’t let himself press his mouth to the skin there. He doesn’t let himself pull away and look into Keith’s pretty constellation eyes and ask what Keith meant when he said he loved Shiro. He doesn’t let himself ask Keith if it’s alright to love him the way Shiro loves him.

 _Don’t be selfish,_ he tells himself. _Be grateful for what you have._

And that’s Keith, his best friend, awake, alive, okay.

— S —

“Is everything okay, Shiro?” Keith asks him one night, when they’re sitting outside in the dust in front of the Garrison, watching the sunset.

That’s always been something that Shiro never really paid attention to until Keith introduced him to it: to sit with the day as it fades into nighttime. He supposes after a childhood like his, where everything was four walls and medical treatments, the only thing he wanted to do was to be unstoppable. And he was; the Garrison record books are a testament to that.

Keith was like that too, always on the go, never wanting to be held up or interrupted, but one thing he always made time for was watching the sunset. It was important, he used to say, to take a moment of rest. To appreciate the day as it left them.

And all these years later, it hasn’t changed at all.

“My Pop taught me that,” Keith told Shiro earlier when he brought it up.

He’s lovely like this, Shiro thinks, as he looks at the outline of Keith against the desert backdrop, aching and upset and wishing he didn’t think so, that his heart wasn’t so selfish. He wishes he could atone for the ugly mark on Keith's face, wishes he could take back their fight and the way he made Keith desperate enough to cry out like that when Kuron had him on his back, blade pressed to his throat.

What would have happened if Kuron hadn't reacted to Keith's confession?

Shiro hates it, hates that in his darkest moments he thinks of Keith, bloodied with a crooked smile and tearstained face, saying it's okay when it isn't, when he's dying and Shiro is too late to stop Kuron and save him.

“I'm sorry, Keith,” he says, voice breaking.

It's too soon in the conversation to be this upset but Shiro is riddled with guilt and the sight of Keith's scarred face makes Shiro feel like shit, like someone is wrapping barbed wire around his lungs and squeezing the air from them.

“What? _No.”_ Keith says with a shake of his head. His hair is so long now, falling across his face, and he looks so beautiful.

 _You don't deserve him,_ Shiro’s mind tells him, but oh, how Shiro wants. Shiro wishes he knew when it all changed from simply smiling at Keith and letting the affection bubble to the surface into this suffocating river inside him instead.

Maybe he could have stopped it, stemmed the flow before that brook morphed into the monstrosity it is now.

 _Don’t be stupid,_ Shiro’s mind says. _You never stood a chance._

He knows it’s right.

Of course he didn’t.

But it’s always nicer to pretend that he isn’t constantly on the verge of doing something incredibly stupid because he’s so selfish to want even more from the best friend who’s given _everything._

“No, Shiro,” Keith says again, mouth turned down like he can taste the bitter regret curdling in Shiro’s chest. _“I'm_ sorry,” he says. “All those months and I didn’t realise it wasn’t you.”

“You—”

“Not fully,” Keith amends, because Shiro knows there were times when Keith tilted his head at Kuron, when his gut clenched and told him something was off.

They just never got to finding out the truth until it was almost too late.

“You couldn't have known,” Shiro says, and it’s a truly pathetic attempt at comforting.

“I should have,” Keith disagrees. “I should have known. You're my best friend and I never—I fucked up, I'm sorry.”

 _“Keith,”_ Shiro says, feeling like something is breaking in him at the sorrow in Keith's voice. It always feels that way now, like being put back into this body made him brittle, susceptible to collapsing. “It isn't your fault.”

But Keith keeps apologising anyway as the sun continues to descend and the day dies. Shiro wishes it would take him with it.

— S —

Shiro is running again.

Captain Shirogane does not run.

Shiro doesn’t give a shit.

He’s running because he’s _late,_ because he told everyone to spend their last day on Earth with the ones they loved, except that was nearly ten hours ago and Shiro isn’t following his own damned order.

Keith found him after the meeting, eyes soft and hopeful as he asked Shiro what he was doing later on.

“Whatever you’re doing,” Shiro said automatically, and if it was too eager or immediate, well, Shiro was going to Hell for worse things, like thinking of Keith above him, mouth moving over his.

“I was going to watch the sunset,” Keith said, and of _course_ he was, and of course Shiro was going to watch it with him, that was a _given._ “I know you’re pretty busy—”

“I’ll be there,” Shiro cut him off. “Might be a bit late, though.”

Keith snorted, because they both knew how stupidly busy his schedule was. Captain Shirogane was in high demand every day. “Just bring snacks.”

Shiro is _so_ much later than ‘a bit’, and even more so because he got halfway out the door and forgot to bring anything edible with him so he had to make a detour. The sun is long down by the time he climbs up Black’s side. He can feel her unimpressed rumble in his head and winces in apology.

 _Accepted,_ Black says, but it doesn’t mean that he’s forgiven.

Even Atlas gangs up on him a little, which totally feels like a betrayal.

Keith is perched on the edge of Black’s snout with Kosmo next to him, Garrison jacket draped over the wolf as if he needs the heat, as if he isn’t a literal space heater. Shiro can’t tell if the clench of his heart is from the ascent or just seeing Keith, but it’s probably just Keith.

 _I love you,_ he thinks, getting to his feet.

“Keith,” he calls.

At the sound of his name, Keith turns his head, eyes lighting up when they land on Shiro. “You came,” he says softly, and Shiro doesn’t think there’s ever been any man who’s fallen to his knees with quite the same desperation that Shiro does right then for Keith.

He crawls closer, makes sure he presses against Keith’s legs as he sits next to him.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” Keith says, and it’s quiet but Shiro knows the insecurity in Keith’s voice and he hates himself for ever making Keith doubt him.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I couldn’t get away sooner.”

“Everyone wants a piece of you,” Keith muses, and it’s unfair, how forgiving he is, how _lovely_ he is, swathed in moonlight.

Shiro loves him, truly. “I’m really sorry I took so long though. Thanks for waiting for me.”

“Always,” Keith says, and that’s _doubly_ unfair, how easily he does that, how he can throw around words like that so easily. He laughs then, adds, “But you _did_ take forever. Even Lance spent time with me.”

It’s Lance, Shiro shouldn’t be _jealous,_ and yet he is. He holds up the bag of cookies. “I remembered to bring food at least.”

“You mean the Alzheimer’s decided to spare you today?” Keith teases.

“Shut up,” Shiro tells him, undoing the packet and holding one up.

Keith scrunches his nose up at Shiro, and god, that makes Shiro’s stomach clench at how attractive he is, before he leans forward and takes the cookie with his teeth. Jesus Christ.

“Um,” Shiro manages. “I got you chocolate chip.”

“You weren’t feeling adventurous?”

Shiro shrugs. “No, I just know they’re your favourite, so…”

Keith is halfway through chewing, but his lips curve up into a smile. “You idiot,” he says softly.

Shiro nods and takes a cookie for himself. Chocolate flavour bursts onto his tongue and he focuses on that so he doesn’t think so much about kissing the crumbs from the corner of Keith’s mouth. It’s barely a river anymore, this _thing_ inside him. He’s pretty sure if he takes his mind off it for a minute it’ll swallow him completely.

“Black told me,” Keith says suddenly. “Showed me what it was like when we defeated the robeast.”

 _You mean when you crashed back on Earth and nearly died,_ Shiro thinks bitterly.

Shiro wonders if there will ever be a day when the sadness doesn’t blanket them. This war has torn them apart time and time again and never given them enough of a breather to try and pick up the pieces of themselves.

“Ah,” he says, very eloquently. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

Keith isn’t looking at him. He’s staring out into the orange horizon instead, finishing the cookie he took from Shiro’s fingers.

“Don’t apologise,” Shiro says softly. “You’re always apologising.”

“Yeah, well, so are you.”

“I was _late.”_

“True. But I’m sorry. You…” Keith trails off. “You looked so _scared.”_

Shiro swallows hard. “I was terrified.” And he doesn’t want to talk about it, not on their last night on Earth when they’re supposed to be celebrating, but he’ll give Keith whatever he wants. “Felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

It feels like he can’t breathe right now, either. Every inhale rattles his bones, stings his eyes.

Keith’s hand touches his. He stays quiet, waiting.

Shiro’s eyes are stinging even more now, so he closes them. “I thought you _died,_ Keith,” he confesses, voice wet and pained. “Black was groaning and you were all twisted in your chair and there was _so much blood.”_

Even now, months later, Shiro doesn’t want to remember it. He doesn’t want to remember the panicked _thud thud thud_ of his heart as it sat in his throat, doesn’t want to remember the way Keith was a ragdoll in his arms.

“I’m here,” Keith says lightly.

Shiro swallows back a sob. “Yeah. Yeah, you are. Thank god.”

“I’m here,” Keith repeats. “I’ll always be here.”

“Yeah.”

Any other time Shiro would have gotten over himself and made some joke about it all, but right now is different. Right now all he can think of is how much blood there was, and how Keith wasn’t responding to him.

So Shiro pulls Keith into a hug.

Keith is ready for it, lets Shiro’s arms wind around him, lets Shiro bury his face into Keith’s neck. There are so many things Keith lets Shiro do to him, things that remind Shiro of just how lucky he is to have such trust from his spitfire best friend.

Sitting here holding Keith, it’s reassuring beyond measure to feel how warm he is, to feel the strong beat of his heart. It’s the complete opposite to when he was in Black’s cockpit and Shiro wants it no other way.

Maybe that’s why he thinks nothing of it as he presses his mouth to Keith’s skin.

In his arms, Keith goes still.

“Shiro?” he says, careful.

_Fuck._

Shiro rears back. “Fuck. Fuck, sorry.” He drags fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Keith says, hands reaching for Shiro’s face. “Hey, it’s okay—”

“I’m sorry—”

“Come back,” Keith says. “It’s okay.” He grasps Shiro’s shoulder, his neck. “Come back.”

He ends up in Keith’s arms this time, face pressed to the same spot he just kissed. Keith is still murmuring in his ear, hands rubbing up and down his back.

“You can do it again, if you want.”

Shiro lifts his head, catches Keith’s gaze. “What?”

Keith flushes bright red but he hasn’t moved. Instead he tilts his head to the side, baring his neck. So Shiro leans in and closes his mouth over the pulse point there. He does it again, higher this time, slow enough that he can feel the way Keith’s heartbeat picks up.

When he finds Keith’s eyes again, they’re focused on him and him alone.

Shiro curls his hand around Keith’s neck. “I want,” he assures him, and he leans in.

Keith’s mouth is soft and Shiro takes his time luxuriating in the feel of it. It's a learning curve for both of them, apparently, because Shiro hasn't kissed anyone in years and Keith has the hesitancy that he reserves for when he's new to something.

And god, is this new. Shiro's never kissed anyone and felt like _this._

Keith responds beautifully to whatever Shiro does to him, mouth opening at the slightest coax, moving with the push and pull readily. His fingers grip Shiro's shoulders as Shiro dares to touch his tongue to Keith's lips, and the shaky breath that follows makes Shiro's head spin.

The shine on Keith's mouth is too attractive for either of their own good.

"This is okay, right?" Shiro checks, breathless from the kisses, from the fact that Keith wants to kiss him too. God, he loves him so much.

"Incredibly okay," Keith laughs, and he reels Shiro back in.

— K —

There's a meteor shower when Keith opens his eyes again. They're common enough, like the dust storms they used to get in the desert, but Keith is still entranced by them every time, regardless. They zoom overhead and Keith watches, desperate for the distraction.

Nearby, his mother is attempting to teach the wolf something. Keith doesn't know what.

He barely knows anything anymore.

The memories always come to him in flashes, fragmented and never enough to form a full picture, yet the emotions from them linger. In one, Keith was fighting Shiro, really fighting, not like the sparring matches, but fighting with fear and anger and desperation. Keith can still smell the burnt flesh.

In another, he was watching Shiro clean his hoverbike. There were motor oil stains on his fingers and the warmth of the afternoon sun on his face, and the familiar ball of happiness in his chest from spending time with Shiro.

These latest ones feel like they're designed to both hurt and heal him, with how they smell like the hospital at one end and taste like Shiro's kisses at the other.

If he closes his eyes and runs his fingers over his lips, he can still feel Shiro.

Keith doesn't know if they are true, or merely wishful thinking.

All he knows is that they were of Shiro, because they always are. Miles and decaphoebs away from him and still every memory this abyss has granted him has been of Shiro.

Keith guesses he shouldn't expect anything different. After all, if Keith is a listless meteor, then Shiro's orbit is the one that Keith will always fall into.

— end —

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for having me, sheith fandom; i say it a lot but y'all keep me going in the roughest times, so bless you—and you're always free to bug me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sepiacigarettes/)!


End file.
